


Sunset

by Mischieftess



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Grief, Love, Strength in the face of loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieftess/pseuds/Mischieftess
Summary: Everything, even something as powerful as a life well-lived, must end.





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> During the Q&A for the fanfic panel at Earp Expo, I asked the panelists what untapped challenges still lay ahead of them. I woke up at 2:30 this morning knowing how I wanted to write this, something that scares me to explore, and many tissues later I have this. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this story to the fanfic writers I met at Expo and to the ones I haven't met. Y'all are an inspiration, a source of strength, and I am in awe of your talents. I'm so glad I got to meet some of you. Um, and I'm sorry that I'm dedicating something so sad, but I think y'all probably understand.

Nicole woke just before dawn. She often did, these days. Sleep eluded her more and more as each year passed them by. 

Outside, frogs chirruped and croaked their way through the morning chorus, as familiar to Nicole as breathing and beloved besides. They’d built their home on Homestead land decades ago, a pleasant little house with too much room for just the two of them. But that was okay – they’d put the extra space to good use, first with their daughter, and then their son. And then, to their everlasting delight, with grandchildren.

The kids were long grown and moved out, though not too far away. Wyatt lived in Purgatory with his wife, where they ran a small business and tried to keep their passel of kids out of trouble. Wren was a high-powered attorney in the Big City, hair streaking gray at the temples. Her partner and their daughter dragged her back to Purgatory on every possible occasion, and Nicole and Waverly always saw the twinkle of joy behind Wren’s grumbling acquiescence.

The frogs, motivated by some unknowable signal, quieted, and the land was silent. Nicole took a deep breath, another, and smothered a groan as she rolled slowly onto her side to look at her wife.

Waverly was still, her face slack and peaceful. Her chest didn’t move with her breath, and she hadn’t even stirred with Nicole’s movement. Nicole sucked in a breath, too fast, and reached out a shaking hand. Waverly’s cheek was smooth, her skin thin with age and cool, too cool, to the touch.

Nicole choked down a sob, her breath coming in heaving little gasps as she smoothed the hair away from Waverly’s face. Her vision blurred and she blinked, spilling tears down her cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” Nicole whispered, her throat tight and thick, painful. She wanted to scream, to shake Waverly awake, to summon her back – but they had decided, long ago, that that’s not what either of them wanted.

Waverly had said, “When I go, I want it to be peaceful, calm, in my sleep. I don’t want any drama, Nicole, no heroics.”

If this was to be the last time, their last morning, Nicole would fulfill Waverly’s wishes, would make it like any other morning. She pressed her free hand over her mouth and swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut to chase her tears out and down the line of her nose, into the pillow. Then she pulled her hand away.

“Morning Waves.” Nicole tried to pour humor and love into her voice, to make it sound like her usual greeting, and it quavered as if under a tremendous weight. Three more stuttering breaths forced their way in and out as she stroked Waverly’s hair, the beautiful silver hair that she’d carried back from the garden over six decades ago.

“Morning bonus blankets.” This was still a little, just a little, funny – Waverly had only added blankets as she grew more sensitive to the cold, and there was a legitimate herd of bonus blankets at this point, including the electric one Jeremy had given them for the holidays a few years back. Nicole always had to stick her feet out of the covers or she’d melt.

The pillow was damp under Nicole’s cheek and she shifted against it, smothering the urge to bury your face into it entirely to cancel out the sight of Waverly’s still features. Determination, the determination Nicole had always felt when it came to Waverly, poured through her. She would do this right.

“Morning body pillow.” They had been introduced to the c-shaped pregnancy pillows with Waverly’s first pregnancy. At the baby shower, a small affair with a few friends and family, Wynonna had joked that she didn’t need one for Alice because she was just that tough, but that Waverly was too tiny to not need some support. Waverly had smacked her with the pillow and been smacked (very gently) with the other end in return, which might have escalated into an all-out battle if Nicole hadn't removed the pillow from play.

Now, Waverly used the thing (well, its 14th or 15th iteration, anyway) as a mobile work station/back-rest and coiled it under her torso and head for sleeping. Nicole had started greeting the pillow as a joke, decades ago, when she was miffed that even after the pregnancy Waverly was still cuddling this interloper in their bed when she could have Nicole. It had remained part of the ritual ever since. 

Nicole shook her head, letting the memory fade, and traced her fingers down to Waverly’s chest, just below her collarbone, where her nightgown covered an old surgical scar and a lump under the skin. “Morning defibrillator.” 

Waverly had insisted that Nicole incorporate the implanted device into her morning greeting. “It’s just as important as the body pillow, Nicole, and deserves your attention!” Nicole had laughed and acquiesced, after she determined that touching it wouldn’t accidentally set it off. 

The defibrillator had been turned off a month ago, after the doctor had said it wouldn’t help with Waverly’s worsening heart failure and might make her passing painful and prolonged. It had been a wracking, devastating meeting. After they got home, Nicole had just sat on the rocking chair on the porch, rocking and staring mindlessly at the juncture of field and forest as she waited for their kids to arrive so they could talk about the decision and what it meant. After the kids had left, she’d tried to go back out to the rocking chair but Waverly had stopped her, pulled her into bed, and curled herself under Nicole’s chin like they had always done, letting Nicole cry herself out as they held each other.

“It’s okay, Nicole,” Waverly had said, nuzzling into Nicole’s chest. “We all have our time. I’m still here for a little while longer.” 

Waverly hadn't wanted to live hooked up to machines, or without the quick mind that had remained able to maneuver around Nicole’s more measured thoughts for their entire lives together. Nicole understood, she really did, and she felt the same way about herself. But when it came to making the decision itself, all she could do was support Waverly’s determination and make sure it was recorded in their living wills and in the DNR flag on their medical records. That way she wouldn’t have time for a moment of weakness.

As it turned out, Waverly hadn’t needed the paperwork. At that thought, Nicole coughed, the heavy breathing and tightness in her chest irritating her throat, but after a moment she was able to continue.

“Morning, silver angel hair.” The garden had been so long ago, but the agony of losing Waverly had been tempered by fierce determination and hope. They had won, and she'd been returned to Nicole, but Nicole acknowledged the hair every morning as a reminder to cherish each and every day together. 

Nicole propped herself up, the weakness of her arms and ache of her shoulders and elbows still surprising, though she understood that 91 was _old_ , and leaned over to kiss Waverly on the forehead. A tear dripped from her nose to seep into Waverly’s hairline as she lingered, trying to remember the softness of the skin under her lips, the sweet smell of her hair. Waverly’s spirit, the sense of presence that she always held, had fled this world, but Nicole still held an ever-so-temporary echo here, in front of her, and she would say her goodbyes. 

Nicole spoke to her love one last time. “Morning, Waverly. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Love you all.


End file.
